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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to change. I believe you truly can instruct a veteran learner, provided that the experienced individual is willing and eager for knowledge. So long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am trying to learn, although I am set in my ways? It is an important one, a feat I have grappled with, often, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. This includes three times in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to handle any personally, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it chased me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I visited a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the casement, mostly just stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, one of us, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us chat. This may seem extremely dumb, but it was effective (a little bit). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become more fearless did the trick.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I understand they eat things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way imaginable. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that frightening pace triggers my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that multiplies when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that taking the steps of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that dart around extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but you never know. There’s a few years for this veteran of life yet.